The Ties That Bind Us
by Siriusly Dinosaurs
Summary: But she was respectable and he was free-minded. She crossed her ankles and engaged in polite conversation, and he blew things up and laughed himself to tears. She was just another pebble, crushed and forgotten beneath strangers' shoes, and he was the wind, gliding past her. And then Sirius and Morgana were bound by a curse, and everything changed.


_This is a collaborative project co-written by my dear friend Liza (Forever Siriusly Sirius) and myself (annaisadinosaur). The first section was written by Liza, the second by me. We sincerely hope you enjoy reading this as much as we enjoyed writing it!_

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**Chapter One**

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"Sirius Orion Black!" His mother's carefully controlled voice hissed into his ear, laced with fury.

He smirked idly. He'd just, unbeknownst to the victim and everyone in the room apart from his mother, turned dear Lucius Malfoy's hair rainbow colours. There was baby blue, fluro pink, sunshine yellow and even a tint or two of orange. But that was from the best part - it was the brilliant streak of scarlet and gold that ran straight down the middle of his shoulder length, normally silver-blonde hair. There was black lettering that spelled out "Gryffindor." Sirius had added it for good measure.

It wouldn't take too much sense to figure out who it'd been, though.

He turned his attention away from poor Lucy-loo – who was now shrieking in horror, swatting away Narcissa, whose failed attempt at reversing the charm had somehow made Lucius spew out scarlet bubbles whenever he opened his mouth – to his mother. To say she was simply livid must have been the understatement of the century.

Walburga Black, "Wally" or "Mumsy dearest" to Sirius, was shaking with anger as her husband handled the damage control. (Attempted to handle, more like.)

"Mark my words, boy, there will be hell to pay when we get back to Grimmauld Place if you don't stop this _now_." She could have gone on, but her icy tone and the fire in her eyes said more than words ever could.

Sirius supposed that his mother didn't want anything or anyone – namely, _Sirius_ – to ruin his cousin Narcissa's engagement with that slimy git Malfoy. After all, the Malfoys were quite possibly the most influential and wealthy pureblood family to ever exist; it was every father's dream to marry their daughter off to a Malfoy.

There was also the unspoken subtext. Not only had he managed to successfully ruin his own marriage prospects to Morgana Lefevre (the only and only remaining heir to the House of Lefevre), but now he was proceeding to devastate his cousin's. He couldn't complain about the situation with Morgana, though; he couldn't stand her, nor she him. Frankly, he'd have killed himself rather than marry her. But perhaps that was getting a bit carried away.

Sirius knew that he would get it when he got "home," because not even he could pull a stunt like this and get away with it. Especially because the stunt involved the tabooed House of the Lions.

It would be worth it, though. Everyone was getting bored of listening to Madame Blishwick recount her standard history lesson. He wondered if anyone else noticed that she told the _exact same story_ every gathering. He certainly had. Sirius often wondered if she was related to his charms Professor, although the way she droned on about the marvels of Salazar Slytherin, she might as well have been Professor Binns's sister.

He looked towards his mother, smiling innocently. "I was just doing everybody a favour, Mother. Look how much more entertained everyone is now."

He shrugged innocently as he surveyed the mess that was once a respectable gala of Auntie Gwen Lefevre's. (No relation, of course, but everyone in their pureblood circle considered themselves as such.)

The room was an uproar of utter chaos. Lucy-loo was still spurting bubbles, his hair as colourful as ever. His trademark "FATHER!" rang through the air, causing all those within one hundred meters to wince. Sirius included, although it was worth it.

His aunt Druella (or "Dru the Maneater," as there were still speculations about Narcissa's paternity; blacks were not known for blonde hair, after _all_) was fawning over Narcissa, who was now covered in goo from the bubbles, screeching as they got muddled in her golden tresses.

He saw Regulus hiding a smile as he hovered around the chaos, like a bee to a honeypot. Sirius watched his little brother with a sad smile. He was lost, and Sirius had no clue how to help his weak minded brother. Moments like these were his fight against such weak mindedness, rebellious acts that hinted at his desire to get away. Not for the first time he contemplated leaving. Leaving the life of a pureblood, leaving his parents and his name, leaving it all behind. Unfortunately, and as much as he wanted to, Sirius knew he couldn't take Regulus with him, wherever he went. If it came down to a Sirius-or-them standoff, Reg would choose _them_ in a heartbeat.

And that was what stood between him and his brother. That was what stood between him and everyone else in this house. Sickening and absurd loyalty. He had nothing against loyalty, only loyalty based out of cowardice.

Sirius suddenly felt the desperate urge to escape. Turning to his mother, he said, "There's a terrible smell in here, have you noticed it? If you'll excuse me, please. It seems I'm allergic to the stench of purebloods," and then he promptly exited the room before he could allow himself to witness her reaction.

. . . . . . .

Pouring pumpkin juice on herself as an excuse to slip away from her aunt's party was most definitely a desperate measure. A good measure, though, Morgana reassured herself, assessing the stain in front of the mirror. Seeing as she still had a year's worth of time before she could legally use magic, she would have to scrub her dress relentlessly under the faucet with soap and water—but that was a great deal better than listening to Madam Blishwick's history lesson in her family's sitting room all night. _Anything_ was better than that.

Besides, she had a feeling that Madam Blishwick had made up most of the triumphs of Salazar Slytherin over Godric Gryffindor that she was claiming, anyways. They'd very obviously been aimed towards her. She wondered if anyone was ever going to forget that she was the first child of the Lefevre line to ever be sorted into Gryffindor. It seemed as if she'd have to endure the inconspicuous little dirges for the rest of her life.

Morgana pushed her hair out of her face and sighed, wondering if her aunt and uncle's guests would be staying late tonight. They always did. She needed some time alone, though. She doubt she'd be missed, and it seemed as if the lot was preoccupied with something going on in the sitting room anyhow. She supposed she'd just have to change into something else and leave the stained dress to worry over later. Or ask Aunt Gwen for help. But, really, the dress wasn't even a favorite of hers. It looked like something she might wear to a funeral. Perhaps she'd just leave it stained.

She turned from the mirror to walk to her wardrobe, but a figure was laying on her bed that she hadn't seen when she walked in and she let out a shriek.

"_Sirius Black!_ What are you doing in my _bedroom_, on my _bed_?"

And there he was, the notorious Sirius Black, arms behind his head and a nearly criminal grin on his face. "Just taking a rest. Hope you don't mind. I can't be my charming self at all times of the day, you see."

When was he ever _charming_? Certainly not then and certainly not ever that she could recall. Sirius Black and Morgana did not coexist peacefully and they never had. The fact that Sirius had the _nerve_ to intrude upon the bedroom he knew to be hers…

"Who told you it was all right to contaminate _my_ living space?" she snapped, throwing her hands on her hips and staring him down ferociously.

He shrugged. "Dunno. I didn't go through any of your things, though. I certainly didn't find the diary under your pillow."

"You _didn't_!"

"Isn't that what I just said?"

"Black, you insufferable _git_…" Morgana bolted over to the side of the bed in a flash, pulling her journal out from under Sirius's head and nearly flipping him over all in one motion.

He shrugged it off, quickly resuming his leisurely position. "If it's any consolation at all, I found it rather dull. And also, you've got terrible taste in men. Caradoc Dearborn, really? I mean, he's a _vegetarian_. What a nutter."

Morgana folded her arms over the book protectively and narrowed her eyes at Sirius. She refused to tell him she'd written the bit about fancying Caradoc two years ago, because that way, he could at least _think _he had something to hold over her. She felt somewhat relieved, but not much. "Was that supposed to be a pun? Because vegetarians eat nuts?"

"No." He winked, tilting his head to the side. "But I'm glad you find me amusing."

"Oh, get out," she groaned, throwing one of the pillows at his head and showing him the direction of the door, in case he'd forgotten.

He didn't stir and just moved the pillow off of himself. "You've got something on the front of your dress, you know."

"Yes, I know," she grumbled, tossing her journal in one of her drawers and shooting Sirius a sharp look. She had a feeling it was going to take a lot to make him leave, and she wasn't exactly feeling up to the charade. She could at least try to be decent. He was tolerable, if she bit her tongue. "It was my excuse to get out of the party. What was yours?"

He tossed his head back, staring at the ceiling and drumming his fingers along his chest. "I said something particularly hateful about purebloods. Something about them reeking. Nothing too detrimental, though I suppose it depends on your perspective on the matter."

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was Morgana sorting through her clothing. When she finally answered, it sounded as if someone had shoved patience down her throat and it had just taken her a while to swallow it down. "Sometimes I think in the midst of all your pureblood bashing that you tend to forget that you_ are_ one," she said bitterly, focusing her gaze on something dark grey in her closet that she couldn't identify at once.

"No, but there's a difference," Black answered readily. "If no one ever told you that I was, you might never know. Because I don't wear my blood status around my neck like some ancient, moth-infested vintage scarf. Because it's about as significant as the size of my kneecap. And who really cares about that?"

Morgana shook her head, determining the dark grey thing as a gown she'd worn when she was eleven, and said, "I'm not disagreeing with you, Black." She was, however, giving up on her quest to find something suitable to change into. Sighing in resignation, she went and sat beside Sirius on her bed, staring straight ahead. The truth was, she and Sirius had something in common. They were both sorted into Gryffindor and their families collectively ostracized them for it.

But she was respectable and he was free-minded. She crossed her ankles and engaged in polite conversation, and he blew things up and laughed himself to tears. She was just another pebble, crushed and forgotten beneath strangers' shoes, and he was the wind, gliding past her.

But they did have that _one_ thing in common, and it happened to be the very source of their hatred for each other. For some reason, though, sitting beside him on her bed, she found she didn't hate him quite as much as she had a moment ago. Perhaps it was that Gryffindor loyalty thing that watered the moment down.

"I know you've probably got some snarky comment all loaded and ready about me just running away from my fears, but I'm not afraid," she made a point to tell him as quickly as she could. "I just don't feel like going back out there, and I don't want to hear it from you. So, save it for the next pureblood outcast that shimmies their way into my bedroom, all right?"

He laughed, though it sounded distant and not entirely sincere. She wondered if his mind was on other things far from this house. "That'd be hypocritical of me, considering I ran first."

"I wouldn't put hypocrisy beneath you."

"Thanks, Lefevre."

"How long were you planning on staying up here? Surely your mother will be through the roof if you don't make an appearance soon."

"Nah, she'll be grateful. Otherwise she's got to worry about me making rainbows of people's hair and various other things." He trailed off after he said this, and she imagined he was counting dots on the ceiling. "But, honestly? I was thinking of never coming back."

She glanced at him, observing his sober expression for any trace of comedy. "Do you really mean that?" she asked slowly. "Or is this just another of your juvenile, ill-timed and poorly attempted jokes?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Well, ouch. Low blow, Lefevre. None of that, no. What, you've never just… I dunno, fantasized about running away and never looking back?"

Morgana turned her gaze downcast, staring at her hands. "Sure I have, I suppose. Doesn't mean I'll do it."

"And why not?"

"Because," Morgana started obstinately, "I'm decently intelligent, enough to know that I'd never survive out in the world on my own. Besides, what would my family do without me? I'm the last and only remaining heir to the House of Lefevre."

"But if those _weren't_ factors, then would you?"

She blinked. "I dunno. They are. Does it matter?"

This time, it was Sirius that sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, it matters."

Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, Morgana rose from her bed and walked back over to her wardrobe. The brief moment of Gryffindor bonding had passed. For the most part. "Well, Black, unfortunately I've got a party to return to. You're not planning on running tonight, are you?"

He shrugged. "Probably not. Though I'm not against the idea. But it probably wouldn't be a very practical moment for it."

"So you'll just be gone one morning? Won't say goodbye to anyone?"

"Who should I tell goodbye? My parents? That'd go over well. 'Hey Mum, hey Dad. Just so you know, I'll be leaving now because if I don't I might end up mounting my own head up on the wall there with your house elves.' Yeah, brilliant."

She decided against telling the boy that he was somewhat disturbed. "I'm decent to you, aren't I? You could tell me goodbye."

"Don't be ridiculous," Sirius said, a devilish smirk having found its way to his face. "You and I are awful to each other. Don't tell me you've forgotten how I poured ice water down your shirt last year in Transfiguration?"

Morgana flinched. "Only if you've forgotten how I then transfigured you into a toad and told everyone you'd just run off to the loo right after I'd stuffed toad-you into my book bag."

"I try to forget it," Sirius said, closing his eyes.

"As do I. Those two weeks of detention were not kind to me." She scavenged something fairly flattering from her wardrobe and hung it on her arm. "I don't care if you stay up here. You can if you want. But if anyone asks, I didn't know you were ever here." She opened the door to her bathroom and glanced back at him, still lying quite comfortably on her bed. "By the way, Black, I hate you."

"And you as well." He smiled, the words visibly affecting neither of them. "Is that going to be our thing, 'I hate you'? Like we're chipper and dandy and the best of mates, like a truce of friendship or something?"

She laughed, rolling her eyes. "No, Black."

"Good. It was getting creepy there."

They shared a short glance until Morgana shook her head.

Just before she closed the door, she heard him say, "Goodbye, Lefevre."

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_Thanks so much for reading! Leave a review and we'll bake you cookies. Or, er... Liza will... Right, Liza?! :)  
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